Void
by MultiFandomSF
Summary: -"These are only images, but they are all that remain." Elizabeth and John are lost in a dead future. Finished. Semi AU, some ShepWeir. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

Two weeks after John Sheppard disappears, she steps through the gate and finds the world gone.

* * *

It was supposed to be a simple, ordinary trip. Earth. Ordinary. She doesn't know when she started thinking of Earth as plain, as a black and white concept. Earth was so complex just a few years ago; now Elizabeth feels she knows nothing about anything, the wars, religions, negotiations, culture. She feels as if she's missed a hundred years and going back now would find herself lost. Atlantis is home. Pegasus is the world.

They sent John through the gate on an ordinary Monday; an old friend of his had died in a car accident and his family had requested his presence at the funeral. John left with the vague air of sadness and defeat. Not for the death, merely because he felt nothing and was convinced he should. She knew the feeling, but said nothing.

They made contact with Earth, sent radio hellos. She watched John give a mock salute, half-wave towards her, before he vanished into the blue horizon. The wormhole dissolved. Two minutes later, sudden, unexpected gate activity brought her back to the control room where people were frantically checking readings and consoles.

"Rodney, what's happening?"

"Earth says…they say Sheppard never arrived. I mean—that's impossible. It's as if…"

He trails off, Elizabeth stops listening. A technician replays the General's message: "I repeat, John Sheppard never arrived. The gate activated, then deactivated."

The control rooms buzzes about her; Elizabeth doesn't know what to say.

* * *

Two weeks later, Elizabeth stands seething in front of the Stargate, angry for no reason other than that no one in the city seems clean, it's been raining for days, and Sheppard is still missing. Every single possibility, Rodney says, every one has been checked. There is no reason for the vanishing, he's not caught in the buffer, he's not on another planet and if he is they'll never find him.

The lightning illuminates the aqua paneling and for a moment the room seems lost in a golden haze, a Polaroid with too much light.

After the gate whooshes to life, she readies herself for demolecularization. Closes her eyes, and tries to empty her mind. There will be a solution on the other side. She hopes, and knows she cannot force herself to believe that.

Teyla walks in front of her, she requested to go in hopes of exploring Earth culture while helping the search. It's rather superficial, Elizabeth thinks, the greatest military man of Atlantis is gone, and Teyla wants new shoes.

Elizabeth mentally slaps herself, watches Teyla disappear into the gate, and steps through.

* * *

Two weeks after Sheppard vanishes, Elizabeth Weir steps through the gate and finds inexplicable carnage and undeniable horror.

The gate's event horizon disintegrates immediately, and she starts to cough uncontrollably in the musty air, dust mingled with the scents of rust and ancient decay.

There are bones everywhere, ribcages lying scattered across the floor with blasted skulls and gaping mouths, screaming still. Arm and leg bones, heads and grasping fingers, clawing at dirt and shattered concrete. Ceiling beams hang haphazardly above her, shafts of daylight pierce the humid air. How long since this has happened, she doesn't know. Decades, hundreds of years? It doesn't honestly matter, because eyes wide and hand over mouth, she feels her stomach sink as she falls to her knees. She's on a platform and she can't stop making eye contact with empty sockets that still look terrified.

In a split second, all rational thought ceases, she wants to scream but instead shouts a trembling, "HELLO?" hoping, hoping to God someone will wake her up, because this cannot be happening.

No one answers, the suddenly she is struck by the thought that this is not where she should be, there is no DHD in sight, and no one can possibly know where she is. In a flood of adrenaline, she climbs to her feet and trips-runs to the closest crumbling doorway. She finds herself in a foyer of sorts and bright light stuns her eyes. Summer afternoon heat pours through this outer door; the bright light is blinding when she is standing in so much darkness.

Stumbling forward, she finds herself in the center of a wide grassy slope; on all sides there is a gently sloping burm, white boards act as symbolic steps and lead up from her position to the top, at her sides—symmetrical gardens of blooming flowers and shade trees.

Directly in front of her, in front of a small tree, sits a clear, crystal glass ball. Atop it, a General's navy blue dress hat, as if someone was decapitated, the head then transformed through sorcery. It is disturbing in no way she can pinpoint, and only lends itself to the feelings of emptiness and horror surround her.

Confused and disoriented, Elizabeth does not let herself consider the implications. Behind her Hell, in front the famed Garden. Surrounded by a lush paradise, Elizabeth feels helpless. It's only been three minutes.

Striding forward, mind choking on all the scenarios, problems, impossible solutions. Earth, Pegasus, Milky Way, where? How, why? Is John here? Is anyone here? Ori, Gouald, Replicator, Wraith, her mind cycles through the villains and cannot find one to fit the situation. Elizabeth wants to call out, yell for help, but she knows that wouldn't be smart or prudent. Later she'll wonder why she was stupid enough to walk out of the stained, collapsed room and up the middle of the garden, in plain site of anyone seeking an easy target. For now, she uneasily walks forward, scanning her surroundings. There are more glass sculptures, done in classical or Greek forms, busts and large discs. Next to them, what could be a kiln.

She walks up the white steps.

At the top, bright sunlight beating down in suffocating heat, she turns to face the gate's resting place. Behind her, a black grey Turkish or Persian structure, half collapsed, one tower side still standing tall, crooked towards the blue sky. It is exquisite, even in its decay, the center of this paradise-like garden.

Too shocked and so high on adrenaline, Elizabeth has yet to break down, to realize how hopeless this is. For once in her life, she is going to believe help will come; there is no alternative. At the base of the tower, a small room, with curtains. Next to the room, a staircase leading up the side of the remaining tower. It occurs to her the black Taj Majal is out of proportion with the landscape, but she turns and begins to walk away.

A prarie stretches before her, greens, greys and blues mingled in plains and grasses. Elizabeth walks without purpose and her only sense of direction is where the gate lies situated to her position. Anyone, anyone at all could help her now.

It is growing dark, she can hear what sounds like the ocean. She can see specks of light.

Where John is now, she does not know. Where Teyla is, where Atlantis is, where Earth is, she can only guess, but her concern is only to get off this surreal ground and find some stability. The ground beneath her feels like it's shifting, tilting off balance. In a silent chant, Elizabeth repeats that she will find the answers, she will get through this, this is not as strange and terrible as it seems.

In two months, she will know why people truly worshipped the Stargate.

* * *

A/N 

Please review. If my writing is awful, if you can't picture what's going on, if you purely aren't interested, but read to see if anyone died a really gruesome death/had sex etc at the end, please PLEASE, let me know. I love the concept I'm attempting to write and don't want to write it badly. I know you don't know the whole concept yet, but you should be enjoying it even so.

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate, only my imagination.


	2. Chapter 2

In the hazy dusk, the reality of her situation is beginning to sink in. She's walking in a straight line, towards what looks like a house; she has no idea where she is—in the universe—and cannot think of a way to contact Atlantis or Earth. However, Elizabeth's still confident. There is always an answer; they always find an answer no matter how hard. Maybe it'll be a few days, but someone will come for her. Rodney's voice will echo through the MALP, she'll say something clichéd like, "Rodney, it's good to hear your voice," with a reassured smile. Something like that.

For now, the plains stretch on and she can see waves breaking on a distant shore. Silhouettes move behind gauzy curtains, she has the strange feeling that she's living _Little House on the Prairie_.

Elizabeth is not going to concentrate on the fact that she is alone in a surreal world; that she emerged from a gate room filled with screaming skeletons half fused into walls or crawling across the room, only to find the structure that of classical Middle Eastern architecture, situated in humid garden. She hears the unmistakable sound of a shotgun cock and halts her brisk walk.

"Who goes there?" Shouts a gruff voice, hidden behind a small hill.

"My name is Elizabeth. I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm lost and looking for assistance. I am not armed." She is momentarily startled by how calm she sounds. Inwardly, she is shaking.

She continues to stand still; the light is fading fast and she barely makes out the coastline. After a moment, a tall, broad-shouldered man emerges from behind the hill. He waves.

Baffled, she waves back. He turns and begins to walk towards the house. Elizabeth feels she has nothing to lose by following.

* * *

Inside, she is greeted with a cozy living room; it doesn't feel alien and it occurs to her then that perhaps this is an illusion or matrix related hologram. There are couches with crocheted or knitted quilts; yellow doilies lade over the backs. A plump, plain looking woman is cooking in another room, three other people bustle past her, barely looking at her as she enters. The house is small, but there are at least four children and more adults.

"The name's Willis."

Startled out her reverie, Elizabeth offers a wan smile, "Elizabeth, Elizabeth Weir." He extends his hand, callous palm to her smooth one.

"Can you tell me…where this is?"

"Where…what do you mean, city, country, state, planet? What?" A quizzical expression crosses his face, as she stammers back, a sickening feeling accompanying her next question.

"Planet?"

"Earth."

"State?"

"Think it's…used to be Colorado? Sound's about right don't it, Maddie?" He yells into the other room; Elizabeth sinks to the floor and cradles her head in her hands.

Pale, blood draining from her face, she does not know what this is. Starting to shake, she digs her nails into the floor and tries to think of something, anything to say. Anything that can possibly fix this situation. All her mind can conjure is the crystal ball with the General's hat perched atop it.

"What…what year is _this_?" She manages to stutter, breath hitching; gods she hasn't hyperventilated since the seventh grade.

Willis falls to a squat next to her, appearing unconcerned. "Don't right know, somewhere in the 2600s? Maybe later?" He scans her face, he has the look of someone who knows more that they're revealing. She notes that fact without really feeling the will to care or concentrate.

"You come through the Stargate?"

Shocked, "The…what?"

"The Stargate. Man dressed like you came through a while back."

She does not want to think that this man is John, this elusive "while back" man. Instead, she wants and needs to get out of this place, she feels like the world's pulling itself apart—she's simultaneously in the '70s and in the present? and in Atlantis and now she's like 2859 whatever and this cannot be true. There aren't any solar flares, fine they detect they're passing through a sun here and there but there aren't solar flares and this is wrong—

"You probably want to know what happened back there. If you're from such a different time and all."

Elizabeth is gasping soundlessly, he continues.

"We don't really know, it closed down way before any of us were born. It must have really been something when it was operational huh?"

She nods, wants to cry.

"People don't really like to go around there. Pretty creepy; it's kind of hallowed grounds 'round here. Don't want to disturb the dead. Too odd for the likes of us stragglers. But if you want to be getting back, best go now. You've only got about 20 minutes of light, just go over that hill there and head straight till you hit that garden."

Suddenly, she's standing at the open door; Elizabeth hadn't realized he'd grasped her forearm and pulled her up, ushered her towards the door. Practically shoved out, she starts to walk.

* * *

In 40 minutes, she finds herself in a near pitch black garden, hulking black trees and pale, dim moonlight reflecting off the shimmering ruins and white steps. She is sweating, breathing heavily, and cannot begin to process what she should be doing, what she even can attempt.

Mind too heavy to think, air too hot to breathe, she slumps to the ground beneath a silvery apple tree, and promptly falls asleep.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much to all of the reviewers! I'm overjoyed at the response.

Sorry if it's confusing—I'm trying to get across a general air of surreality and confusion—Elizabeth is awfully baffled, you should generally be as well.

John will make an appearance in about a chapter or two. Don't fret.

Sorry if my chapters are too short for your liking, I'm afraid it can't be helped. I don't have a lot of time to write, and usually don't have the stamina to keep it up for long periods.

Hope you enjoyed! Keep reviewing!


	3. The Shape of Things to Come

A/N:

1. Sorry for the delay, I'm v busy. Nothing more need be said.

2. Chapters will be short; I have a slight bit of ADD. This one in particular will be extremely short, because I kind neglected this story and want to ease myself back into it.

3. AU involves me taking some scientific liberties—thing will not necessarily be explained completely or make sense in the Atlantean world we know.

4. THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THE REVIWERS. Honestly, ya'll make my day and I love receiving comments.

* * *

At some point in the night, the air turns from stifling to frigid; in a haze of sleep Elizabeth finds herself quaking in a light winter breeze. In front of her, a tiny fire, blaze where it started she doesn't know. A tiny fire reflecting off her face; she's curled into a ball clutching herself to attempt some semblance of warmth but she's half asleep and nothing makes any sense.

In a dark night, there is Elizabeth and a tiny fire and blackness all around. In this abstract, sudden cold, she knows nothing else.

Eyes rolling, brain numbing cold, she shakes on the hard, grassy ground and tries to picture where she is. In her mind's eye she sees only blankness, a construct—she can barely see five feet in front of her in this dark garden wasteland.

Shivering in shock and frost, Elizabeth drifts away as she watches a man emerge from the darkness. John walks forward across the fire, lays some sort of quilt across her shoulders. He crouches over her, studying her half conscious face, heavy lidded eyelids dazed with confusion.

John looks at her for a brief moment, face in a half grimace. He thinks over what he's seeing; his face contorts in bitter, almost sad rage and he turns around and walks back into the black.

Elizabeth allows her eyes to close and wakes to bright spring afternoon with only a ragged quilt and the dull, nagging feeling that everything is wrong.


	4. Chapter 4

Startling awake, she is immediately blinded by the bright sun and the undeniable feeling that this is a dream. This world is like a surrealist painting; her perceptions, the landscape, the architecture…everything is off-kilter, off-balance, wrongly juxtaposed and positioned. A man is in her peripheral vision—John is shirtless, working at a kiln.

She thinks this must be a dream.

Without realizing it, she gasps. Elizabeth knows she should be more action prone, should get up, rush to him and ask him what's going on, how she can help. But she can't deny she's shell-shocked. She's living in a haze and nothing remotely horrible has happened yet. When she thinks of what is wrong, her mind is blank; all she sees is this…Earth.

John turns and his expression is eerie, angry and she breaks from her haze in a moment of pure shock. A malevolent John is not something even her nightmares can conjure and she knows this is not a dream.

He balances the metal rod and molten glass on the side of the oven and strides towards her; she is still sitting on the ground, tattered quilt over her lap. Open mouthed, eyes wide, she watches him as he walks and seizes her firmly by the shoulders. Eye to eye, they stare, she wants to say something but his eyes are cold and the hardness she finds there silences her. She doesn't have long to wait.

John clears his throat, hesitates, in the split second he is shaking Elizabeth's shoulders and she is gaping, trying to form words.

And then he tersely hisses, "Why are _you_ **here**?"

Elizabeth stammers, "What…?" and then every word she can think of spills outwards in a stream of desperate questioning, an attempt to seize back seniority and power and everything that seems to have dissipated in two weeks and an evening.

"John, Colonel, what's going on here? How did you get here? How—how…why, why are you….please tell me how we can contact…John, tell me where we are—"

But he's not listening, he's just shouting over her inability to speak: "Why are _you_ here? What were they thinking? Do you know what you've done?"

He releases her shoulders, turns away, storms towards the kiln. Turns on his heel, walks forward again, eyes smoldering and his face filled with fury.

John forces out, "Do you have any idea what you've done?" Anger seeping from every syllable, his fists balled shaking at his sides.

Still on the ground, Elizabeth is shaking, her fingers dug into the grassy hill below her. Her eyes are glistening, but she knows she will not cry. She takes a deep breath and rises to her feet.

She meets John's glare, face inches away from his. She was cold and hideously confused, now she's furious too. Opening her mouth to spit some angry diatribe at him, she hesitates too, and instead, voice hushed and sad asks, "John…what happened to _you…_?"


	5. Chapter 5

Author's note:

1. If you like this fic, or even dislike it, I would like to know. It's difficult to write when I don't think anyone is actually reading. Please review.

2. This will not be scientifically accurate. If you attempt to make complete sense of it, it quite simply won't. I'm making this up; it came to me in a dream. It's not meant to be completely coherent, keep in mind the characters don't have all the answers. Neither will you.

* * *

Later, at dusk, Elizabeth eats an apple while John averts his gaze. His lips are pursed, his eyes narrowed; he stares at the distant horizon, the sun setting over the rolling plains. After the morning, he stalked away to the kiln and did not look at her. Elizabeth didn't press him. They would have left already if something wasn't terribly wrong.

So as the summer light dims, Elizabeth snaps an apple from the tree above her, and John makes his way to her. He sits across from the crackling fire, all embers and smoke now, wraps his arms around his knees and doesn't speak for a while.

* * *

"I'm sorry…I sounded so angry. I'm not angry at you." John says sheepishly, lowering his head before meeting her gaze.

"You've got to understand…" he starts, before trailing off. She opens her mouth, words about to tumble from her lips in a series of in-control questions, but he holds up his hand, his forehead creasing. Forehead knit in some sort of dawning recollection, he asks abruptly, "How long have I been missing?"

The expression on his face is enough to imply there is much more meaning to this question than there should be. Elizabeth nearly laughs, two weeks and he's already lost track of the time? But his eyes are piercing and he looks scared, too curious and questioning for mere forgetfulness.

Steadying herself, Elizabeth says, "John, you've been gone for two weeks—"

"Oh my god." He interjects as his whole body seems to shrink slightly. The darkly quizzical expression on his face disappears and is replaced by one of horror; one of his hands moves unconsciously to his face, he massages his forehead and he attempts to formulate his next sentences. The night is closing in fast now; the fire is fast becoming the only source of light. Elizabeth can see the shadows bending across John's face, and the word she's been searching for, to describe him, hits her. Haunted.

"John, what is—"

"Oh my god." John repeats. He looks toward her again, and states bluntly: "I've been here for a year."

"What?" She gasps, without bothering to conceal her reaction. Eyes wide in the darkness, she lurches forward, practically standing up.

John stands up to meet her and reaches out a hand as if to steady her, or to gesture as he starts his explanation. Instead, shock turning to furious confusion, she jerks away and launches into hopes she subconsciously knows are completely false.

"We must have passed through a solar flare—the SGC has dealt with this before, they'll certainly contact us. I'm sure the only reason I came through is because there's an unusual abundance of flares this particular time in…time…and I'm positive that Rodney or Zalenka will find—"

But he cuts her off again, it dimly occurs to Elizabeth that she's the one in command and she's fed up with this bullshit.

"That's not what's going on." He pauses, trying to explain what he seems to be sure of in terms another human being will understand.

He starts: "Our original gate network, the extended trip from Earth to Atlantis…we discovered a year or so ago back that it passed through a star on the way here. The star was in an extremely slow orbit around a twin star. We've always been passing through a star, through a solar flare so to speak.

"I've been here for a year, Elizabeth," he breathes deeply, "and we've always been passing through a sun. The only explanation that makes any sense is…we're no longer passing through the star. Or certain wormholes aren't. We're reaching the edge of a star—the trajectory of our Stargate is reaching the edge, or the small space between the two orbiting stars."

Elizabeth's expression tells him she hasn't quite grasped what he's getting at—she's staring at him seriously, eyes still wide, but in a way that tells him she's close to simply whining, "So?"

"I think…this is real time."

"That doesn't make any sense!" she blurts angrily.

"But it does!" he snarls back, unable to control his growing panic and anger over the situation in general.

"That can't be…you're saying that Atlantis is living in the past, that we'll never get back, what are you saying?!"

"I'm saying that all this time Atlantis has been connected with the Earth we know…simply through a spatial fluke…that in reality one is much older than the other."

"Oh god."

Elizabeth sinks to her feat, exhausted. She starts to shiver uncontrollably and repeats again, to no one in particular, "Oh god." Her voice conveys only defeat; John still stands over her, one hand to his forehead, struggling to realize the situation, to tell Elizabeth—to make her understand.

In a dead future, Elizabeth Weir comes to the realization that she is indeed living in a dead present. That all of her friends, family—her dog—are dead and died eons ago. She doesn't know how, she doesn't know when or why…_this_ place came to be. Elizabeth realizes that Atlantis is actually a remainder of something much bigger—not merely the Ancients, but probably most of humanity as well.

In a dead present, tears begin a quiet descent down Elizabeth's cheeks; she thinks of the past and future and of the things that can never be, will never be, and have never been.

* * *

Author's third note: If you legitimately don't know what is going on, as in, you're not questioning my attempt at fake fanfic science but do not get what is going on, let me know, in a review. I will clarify.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter is much darker than previous, for this reason I changed the rating to T. Nothing is very explicit, but I felt the rating change might be necessary.

I have little else to do with this story. Quite frankly, I believe SGA is an awful, awful show and noooo not just because they killed Beckett or Weir blah blah blah. The writing and plots are contrived; they have good characters, but they have no unique dynamic that set SG1 apart. They also don't have a single romantic relationship going for them. I have received very few reviews; those I have received I have loved and thank ya'll for them.

These are all vignettes, which I do much better with, of what might have been longer chapters.

Enjoy.

* * *

These are only images, but they are what remain.

* * *

McKay, sleepless, hitting random buttons at a nameless, run-of-the-mill Lantean console. He has not slept in days, eaten in a week, and he is not troubled by the Wraith or other such distractions. Instead, tormented, he seeks the invisible answer to the disappearance of their two commanders.

He buries his head in his hands, curling around his hair, and lets out a low shriek of frustration.

"God, there's got to be an answer somewhere…!"

* * *

Elizabeth Weir is resolute. She trusts John's assertions; they make sense. There is truly little they can do. She follows him to the makeshift market several miles away. Some have horses; they have legs. He buys supplies, clothes; she buys white paint and a brush.

He always walks in front of her and her always several feet behind. She has little to say these days; she feels her silence is a dam filling to burst. They traverse the moor, formerly Colorado, prairie grasses shushing in the wind.

* * *

The days pass slowly, they wake at dawn and sleep at sundown. Firelights dot the horizon on some occasions; flickering enigmas in a silent world.

* * *

She finds him back down in the grasses, busy at something she understands but feels no need to imitate. Maybe she is a temptation, or maybe he's just lonely.

* * *

Sleep comes fast, if hours are fast. At dusk, they creep up the winding stairs to the "apartment." It is a large room with a large window; tattered curtains adorning a sometimes view of the moon. Some days the weather is brutally hot, and they lay on the single full sized mattress apart, sweating in as few clothes as they can bear. Others, like some of the first nights, it freezes. John pulls her close under the ragged blankets so they can keep warm.

* * *

Elizabeth paints on the soot-blackened wall in Huckleberry white paint. She writes, in large, bold letters:

E. WEIR + J SHEP. HERE

DO NOT COME

NO DHD

TIME DELAY

2 WK HERE 1 YR ATL

She kneels in front of her handiwork and stares transfixed at a dead gate and tries to will a wormhole to take its place.

* * *

She finds him back down in the grasses, busy at something she understands but feels no need to imitate. Maybe she is a temptation, or maybe he's just lonely.

She tells him, you know you don't have to be so alone.

That night, everything is wrong. It is rushed and painful for her; he apologizes afterwards, spent and sweating.

She cries silently in the dark, curled inward.

* * *

She can be found kneeling in front of the stargate, skeletons surrounding her in macabre glory.

* * *

John works at the kiln, day in, day out. He makes gorgeous works of art, Grecian urns and busts and such out of glass. Where he gets his supplies, she does not know. Where he gets his talent, she does not know. She watches him and catalogues her memories of old Earth on recycled parchment and bloodwater pen.

* * *

He finds her standing in a field, gazing listlessly at the distance towards the ocean.

John asks her, voice grumbling softly, "How are you doing?"

The words seem so loud in a world where there is so little sound, and she turns, intending to be cool and collected.

But his eyes are pained too, and she starts to cry, words trembling, "Not well," she breaks, stifling a sob, "…John, I just, oh John—"

And that is when she starts to fall and instead crumples into his arms. The sky and clouds are some kind of red dawn orange sunset haze, and she is sobbing in his strong arms.

* * *

They find themselves falling in love. It is forced, to be sure, but she does not know it begins, only when she recognizes it. It is a sunny day, and Elizabeth smiles as she watches John work at the kiln, muscles rippling under his skin. She smiles at his figure and thinks there are some perfect moments.

* * *

The world passes, Elizabeth clings to John at night as her lifeline. He loves her tenderly, tentatively. Their romance is quiet and old fashioned. They sneak smiles at each other throughout the day, eyes twinkling.

* * *

John finds Elizabeth kneeling before the Stargate. Elizabeth realizes at some point—some poor distant travelers, once upon a time, must have wound up far from home with no return. They sat and hoped, day after day, that the portal would reopen and salvation would come.

She thinks that, after resettlement and generations, people emulated their movements. They assumed those movements to be in worship.

* * *

Laughter and conversations sometimes ring out over the desolate plains and stormy sky.

* * *

Rodney eventually finds them. He works out everything; with the same horror that Elizabeth and John faced. Shipments of technology and knowledge are shipped in droves to past Earth, with transmissions explaining what will happen. Many on the expedition return home. Many come to Atlantis to survive, or to be alone.

* * *

They come back after two years of their time—three for John—but only four to six weeks for Atlantis. They walk through the gate and personnel cheer. John wearily smiles, isolation hardened. Tears course down Elizabeth's cheeks and others give her strange stares. They just don't understand.

* * *

Elizabeth steps down as expedition leader, John returns to life as a soldier.

He distracts himself, Elizabeth gets lost.

She is distant, haunted, and sad.


End file.
